Isle of Lost Souls
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Isle of Lost Souls

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** Yes, yes. This one starts off as a tag of sorts to "Skin". It's not an ep I've tagged before so I figured, good a place as any to put this. :D The idea for the story itself began as a 1 shot for Janice for the 2nd Edition of the Reader's Special Reward stories. You can read it there if you like. It's chapter 16 or just stick around. It will be included herein. The location just begged for a complete, multi-chapter story and I've finally gotten around to it.

The island is a real place described to me in detail by Janice herself and MAN talk about a rich history. Lol so much to work with! Hopefully you'll all enjoy this one as much as I do! On with the show!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_**CHAPTER 1**_

Charity fled through the tall grasses. The moon lit her way and sparkled off the tears flowing down her face. She looked back over her shoulder but saw nothing and yet…she knew it was following. It had chased them half around the island and Steve…she hiccupped a sob as she ran with the memory of his dying screams in her ears. She tripped and fell; rolled back to her feet and ran on. She couldn't stop. If she stopped it would find her.

She ran and panted for breath. Her side hurt. Her legs tired and her chest burned with the need to rest. She ignored it all and crashed through the trees. She had to get away; find help. Charity staggered out of the forest and dropped to her knees with a sob.

"No! No. No. No please no!" She covered her face with her hands and let the tears take her to the ground. The land bridge between the island and the mainland was swallowed by the tide. The ocean waters roiled across where it had stood and there were hours yet before it would recede. "Oh god." Charity stared at the water and desperation drove her back to her feet. She couldn't wait. It would kill her. She would swim for it. She had to. "I can…I can do this." She took three stumbling steps toward the shore's edge and screamed as a freezing pain exploded in her chest and her breath misted out before in a cloud. Her heart seemed to stutter and she could feel cold breath on the back of her neck. It had her. Her screams were swallowed by the waves and wind as her body dropped into the sand; dead.

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Dean watched his brother climb out of the car like an old man and cringed. It didn't matter that the Shapeshifter had hurt him; the bastard had been wearing his face when he'd done it and Dean wanted to go back and kill the son of a bitch all over again just for that. "You gonna make it, princess?" He called instead and managed a smirk when Sam glared at him. "I could get you a wheel chair."

"Bite me, Dean." Sam shook his head and pulled his laptop out of the car with a soft groan. His face hurt. His chest hurt. His back hurt…he rolled his eyes. His everything hurt really. He wanted a bed and some uninterrupted sleep with his real brother safe beside him, though he wouldn't say that out loud. Dean would just mock him for being a girl.

"Whatever, bitch." Dean grinned and walked past him to open the motel room door. "We could have stopped three states back if you hadn't been so gung ho about following Dad's coordinates." The text had come in not an hour after they'd left Becky behind and Sam, ever obsessed with finding their father and the thing that had killed Jess had convinced him to drive through. Fourteen hours later he'd finally put his foot down and found a motel in nowhere Pennsylvania. Charles Island, Connecticut could wait for tomorrow.

"It's only four more hours you know." Sam said as he walked into the room, continuing the argument from the car.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean lightly slapped the back of his head as he passed and then had to grab for him when he hissed in pain and wobbled on his feet.

"Maybe don't…hit the guy…with the damn concussion." Sam gasped between breaths.

"Shit, Sammy. I'm sorry. Come on." Dean's irritation turned into contrition as he led his brother to the far bed and sat him down.

Sam snorted. "Jerk." He heaved a relieved sigh to be sitting somewhere other than the car and decided Dean had been right to pull off for the night.

"You gonna live?" Dean asked with a smile.

"Not if I'm lucky." Sam groaned and let himself topple over to his side on the bed. "Knock me out. Wake me up next week."

"Don't tempt me." Dean shook his head and watched as Sam dropped into sleep inside of a minute. He bent and wiggled Sam's sneakers off before pulling the blanket out from under him and tossing it over top of him. He laid down salt lines at the door and windows and then decided a hot shower would get him the rest of the way to sleep. Dean gave Sam a last look and went in the bathroom. In minutes he stood beneath the hot spray and let it pound the tension out of his back from spending half a day driving. The image of shooting himself played on a loop behind his eyes and made him shiver. That was one memory he could do with forgetting.

"Get a grip, idiot." He told himself and turned off the shower. He toweled off and pulled on his sweats. Dean picked up his toothbrush and then stopped, hearing something. "Shit." It was Sam's voice in one of his ever present nightmares. He went quickly back out into the bedroom and to his brother who had already worked himself up to thrashing in the bed. Sam moaned 'no' over and over and Dean grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shake.

"Sammy. Wake up." Dean held on to him and gave his shoulders another solid shake. "Sam!"

Sam was caught in a nightmare with his brother's face staring down at him as he choked. He fought vainly to pull in one last breath, just one as he watched Dean's face fade above him and knew he was going to die. He felt himself being shaken. He heard Dean's voice and shied away. He was dying. Dean was killing him. His mind spun with confusion and he remembered; Not Dean…the shapeshifter and he had watched his brother kill the thing with his face. Yet he could still feel those familiar hands around his throat. Dean's voice called to him again and he fought to open his eyes, to see. Sam's eyes shot wide as he lurched upright and stared around the room, settled on Dean and then he flinched back in momentary shock, still seeing the nightmare.

Dean's heart sank with the reaction. He didn't give in to the urge to back off. He gentled his hands on Sam's shoulders and moved a hand to his neck in his age old gesture of comfort. "Just me little brother. Promise."

"God. Dean." Sam dropped his pounding head into his hands and groaned. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"Instant replay of yesterday?" Dean asked and got a short nod. "Figured. Don't apologize, Sammy. Not for that." He watched Sam curl an arm over his stomach. "You alright?"

Sam looked up finally and gave him a watery smile. "Sorry. Yeah." He rolled his eyes when Dean scowled at him for apologizing again and smirked. "Sor…I mean…oh hell." He dropped his head back and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

Dean rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle and squeezed his neck again. "Hang on." He went to the bag on his bed and dug through it until he came up with the painkillers and shook two out then grabbed a bottle of water and took them over. "Here." He'd given his brother the once over after saving him from the shifter. He knew how bad the bruising on his chest, back and stomach were and was frankly surprised he'd gotten up and walked at all. "You'll sleep better."

Sam considered arguing and then shrugged, taking them. "Thanks." He was a misery of pain. He rolled back into the bed and then realized he was still in his clothes. "Ah hell." He sat back up with difficulty and pulled off his flannel. Getting his t-shirt off was another matter. His back had stiffened up enough from its impact with the bookshelves that he couldn't quite get his arms up. "Screw it." He muttered and dropped back down, pulling the blanket up over his head when Dean chuckled. "Shut up."

"Didn't say a word." Dean smiled and turned off the light. He twitched the blanket more securely over Sam then climbed into his own bed with a grateful sigh.

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Dean woke to the smell of coffee and groaned, cracking one eye open to find a mug held in front of his face. "Gimme." Sam chuckled and handed it to him. "Time is it?"

"Little after ten." Sam went back and sat at the small table with his laptop. "Figured I'd let you sleep in after driving all night." It was his way of silently saying 'thank you for knocking some sense into me and making me sleep' that wouldn't make Dean roll his eyes at him.

Dean grunted with appreciation and slid up in the bed to savor his first sip and surreptitiously check out his little brother. Sam was moving better. He couldn't say he looked better since his face was still a patchwork of bruises and likely would be for a week. The unmistakable imprint of his own fist high on Sam's right cheekbone made him shake his head and get out of bed finally.

"You figure out why Dad wants us out there on a damn island?" Dean asked as he headed for the bathroom with his coffee.

Sam nodded. "Seven dead with their hearts apparently crushed inside their chests." He waited for Dean to come back after the toilet flushed and raised his brows. "No outward signs of trauma."

"Come again?" Dean made for the donut box beside his brother.

"There are no injuries. It's like something reached through them and squeezed their hearts into pulp." Sam sat back and saw the flicker of interest in Dean's eyes. "So my money's on a spirit of some kind."

Dean nodded. "Probably. What's out there?" Dean filled his mouth with jelly filled goodness and dropped into the chair across from him.

"A lot and not much anymore." Sam smirked at the scowl on his brother's face. "Ok, so there was a resort. That's been abandoned and taken back by the island, a Monastery, same deal."

"Monks?" Dean snorted. "So maybe ghost Monk is ninjaing people's hearts?"

"Dude, be serious." Sam shook his head and took a donut for himself. "There was an amusement park, also gone and reclaimed by the island. Some houses, torn down. Basically it's trees and sand and grass and some old foundations." He closed his laptop and sat back. "No telling what's hiding under the ground out there."

"So we drive out, have a look." Dean shrugged. "No problem."

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, about the driving part…can't. Only access to the island is a land bridge that's only there during low tides."

"Not…cool." Dean groaned. "So either we hurry it the hell up or we get stuck out there for what…twelve hours?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "Roughly. Upside. It's summer. We won't freeze if we do get stuck." He chuckled at the disgusted look on his brother's face. "I figured we'd stop at the local library. See if there's any local info to dig up on known spooks and legends for the place."

Dean finished off his donut and stood. "Yeah I'll drop you off and then go find some other way to make my eyes bleed."

Sam chuckled as his brother went into the bathroom and shut the door. He waited to hear the shower running and then indulged himself, folding over the table top with a low moan to relieve the incessant ache that still held sway in his back. "Crap."

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Sam leaned back in the tortuous library chair in Milford's public library and groaned long and loud as the muscles protested being hunched over the micro-fiche machine for so long. He looked longingly over at the library's computer and its 'out of order' sign. His research could have gone so much more smoothly. He looked around and saw the librarian giving him a severe look again. She'd taken one look at his bruised and battered face and decided he must be trouble. He snorted. She'd obviously no idea that it was actually the grinning, green-eyed menace of an older brother beside was the actual troublemaker. Dean was, at that moment, somewhere across the room in the adult stacks. Sam knew this because the occasional paper airplane came winging up over the shelves in his direction, always when the librarian's back was turned. He had a collection on the floor around his chair.

"I expect you to clean up your mess when you're done, young man." The librarian snarled as she stalked over to Sam and toed several of the offending folded papers before turning her nose up and walking away.

"So much for teacher's pet, huh Sammy?" Dean asked with a chuckle as he came around the corner and grinned at him.

"You…are a jerk." Sam said with feeling.

Dean chuckled and picked up one of his airplanes. "Bitch." He launched it at his brother's face and threw his arms up in the air with a silent 'score!' as it hit him between the eyebrows.

Sam batted it away with a smirk and grabbed the stack of papers he'd printed off. "Can we go now? Preferably before she comes back and hurts me?"

"Come on, grumpy." Dean laughed and pulled Sam up out of the chair. He held on to his arm when he hunched slightly before straightening. "I want food."

"You always want food."

"I'm a growin' boy." Dean grinned again and tossed a salute to the scowling librarian as they passed her and left. The late afternoon sun shone down on the town as they stepped outside and the warm summer air broke them out in an instant sweat. "Saw a diner down the street." He steered Sam to his left and rubbed his hands together. "They have pie in the window."

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile. "So, I think we're just going to have to go out there and hope we get lucky." He waved the sheaf of papers at Dean before tucking them into his bag. "There have to be at least a dozen different local legends about ghosts. It's a mess."

Dean shrugged. "So, we go look. Find Casper and figure out which it is then you figure out where he's buried."

Sam chuckled. "More or less. I think it's the only way we narrow it down." He looked over at Dean. "Unless you want to spend time digging up half the old graves in at least four cemeteries around town."

Dean snorted. "No thanks. Besides, how many ghosts can there be on one tiny island?"

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"You didn't say anything about having to wade out to this place, Sam." Dean said in a disgusted tone as water washed up and over the little sandbar to drench his boots. The island was some sixty yards further on. Sam had said there was once a resort but Dean couldn't see how anyone would have paid money to friggin swim for it. The sandbar was the only way in and was solidly underwater at high tides.

Sam snorted a laugh ahead of him. "Well if we'd gotten here an hour sooner it would have been dry."

"Hey, you try saying no to fresh baked apple pie." Dean smiled remembering.

"Dude, you were drooling at the waitress, not the pie." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean smacked his lips behind him. He looked over his shoulder at his big brother. "It was sad."

"You're just jealous." Dean said and then growled when a wave washed over up to his knees. "Aw come on! We may as well swim for it."

"Bad idea." Sam grinned over his shoulder. "There are rip…" He broke off when he felt the sand beneath his feet shift as a wave curled around his legs up to his knees. He had nothing to hang on to as it pulled him away and toppled him into the water.

"Sam!" Dean watched him fall as if in slow motion. Sam's head vanished beneath the swirling water to the side of the sand bar. Dean saw Sam's head surface for a moment yards away and go under again, arms flailing. "Hang on, Sam!" He picked up his feet and ran the length of the sand bar as fast as the rising waters would let him. The last rays of the sun picked out Sam's dark hair again as he bobbed to the surface and Dean gasped in a breath when he reached the shore before turning and sprinting along the beach after him. "Sammy!"

Sam choked in sea water and fought for the surface and air. The current had a hold of him and pulled him along willy-nilly. He tumbled and his head broke the surface. Sam spat out water and sucked in a much needed breath before he was dragged under again. The crazed current pulled him down and up, teasing him with short gasps of air before shoving him to the bottom and scraping already abused parts of his body along rocks. It was becoming harder and harder not to give in to the need to breathe as he flailed and kicked trying to break free.

Sam nearly did inhale a gale of water when he felt hands close on his reaching arm and suddenly his head was pulled above the surface. He coughed and gasped and saw Dean's face before he was turned and pulled with his brother's arm around his chest, holding his head up.

"I gotcha." Dean panted and pulled desperately for the shore. Sam kicked weakly trying to help and Dean could hear him roaring air in and out in his ear. "Almost there." The terror of losing him to the ocean was beginning to fade now he had hold of his brother and could hear him breathing. The bottom finally came up under his feet and he stood, pulling Sam with him. He drew Sam's arm over his shoulders and together they stumbled out of the surf onto the dry sand where he let Sam down and dropped beside him. "You ok?"

"Rip currents." Sam coughed up some more of the ocean and managed a small, exhausted smile. "There are…rip currents around here."

"No kidding." Dean slapped his shoulder. He looked out to the sand bar…or where it had been and sighed. "So, we're officially stuck here for the night."

"Good thing you were carrying the bag." Sam saw it sitting further back on the beach. "Or we'd be hunting this ghost empty handed."

"You stand?" Dean took his arm when he nodded and got him to his feet with a grunt. He studied Sam for a moment and decided he was steady enough. "Next time you wanna take a swim, tell me. I'll find you a pool."

Sam chuckled and followed him up the narrow beach to the bag where Dean shouldered it once more and took out two flashlights. He handed one to Sam and turned toward the heavily forested island. The sun was down now. Fading dusk colored the sky in deepening orange and blue as the night birds woke on the island and sent their calls out on the evening wind.

"What's left of the resort should be…that way." Sam pointed to the North-East. He let his head fall forward and reached an arm back to rub along his lower back, trying to relieve the new pain and wondered how many new bruises he was going to be sporting.

"Hey, pay attention." Dean swatted Sam's shoulder when he stumbled over a root.

"Sorry." Sam said sheepishly. He was exhausted from his near drowning and it was starting to wear on him, not to mention the numerous bruises he could feel from being battered against rocks on the bottom. "You know Captain Kidd is supposed to have laid a curse on the island." He smiled when Dean looked at him surprised.

"Nice. Maybe there's a rum stash somewhere." Dean grinned then looked over at him in the light from their flashlights. "Wait. What kind of curse?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea. It's just a rumor."

"Ok, you see an 'x' anywhere, leave it alone." Dean chuckled. "Just to be safe."

"Dude, it's not Treasure Island." Sam rolled his eyes and went wide around the bole of a large tree. His clothes were sodden and weighing him down. He could see Dean swinging his arms and sending water in arcs into the trees from the drenched fabric. They were squelching as they walked. "I think we've lost the element of surprise." He laughed.

"Too bad salt water doesn't work as protection." Dean shook his arms again and dearly wanted dry clothes. At least it wasn't cold. It was a balmy summer evening but the humidity and sodden clothes were beginning to make him sweat.

They reached the site of the old resort in less than a half hour. It was the only site on the island not reclaimed by the trees. The moon had risen and the silvery light caught on the outlines of old foundations laid out in patterns through the tall grass. Dean walked out into the wide open space as Sam went wide beyond him. The bodies had been found at or near the site so the Ghost had to be lurking somewhere nearby. He put his flashlight away and took out his EMF meter, flipping it on. The needle climbed into the red.

"Head's up, Sammy." Dean called and saw his brother nod. Something was close by.

Sam paced carefully across the field, stepping over the bases of long gone walls and buildings. He startled when he realized the night had gone silent. "Dean." Sam looked over and opened his mouth to warn his brother when there was a crash. Dean's mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise as he fell from view with a shout. "Dean!"

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_To Be Continued… _


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Isle of Lost Souls

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** My Muse…she is enjoying this story…and tormenting her favorite victim…Sammy. Heh heh heh heh

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_They reached the site of the old resort in less than a half hour. It was the only site on the island not reclaimed by the trees. The moon had risen and the silvery light caught on the outlines of old foundations laid out in patterns through the tall grass. Dean walked out into the wide open space as Sam went wide beyond him. The bodies had been found at or near the site so the Ghost had to be lurking somewhere nearby. He put his flashlight away and took out his EMF meter, flipping it on. The needle climbed into the red._

_"Head's up, Sammy." Dean called and saw his brother nod. Something was close by._

_Sam paced carefully across the field, stepping over the bases of long gone walls and buildings. He startled when he realized the night had gone silent. "Dean." Sam looked over and opened his mouth to warn his brother when there was a crash. Dean's mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise as he fell from view with a shout. "Dean!"_

**_CHAPTER 2_**

Sam sprinted across the ground and slid to a stop near where Dean had vanished. "Dean?" He inched forward and saw a dark hole. He dropped to his stomach and crawled to the edge, shining his flashlight down.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice came softly up.

Sam found him with the light and heaved a breath that it had been a short fall. The hole was no more than six feet deep. "Dean. Are you alright?"

Dean groaned and lifted his head**,** then let it fall back to the mound of earth and rotten wood beneath him. "No." He tried to take a personal inventory and decided nothing was broken except maybe his head. "Okay, yes."

Sam shook his head. "Scared the crap out of me," he muttered. He took hold of the edge and rolled over the side. He was tall enough his head was level with the edge when he stood. He knelt beside Dean and started running his hands over his arms and legs.

"Dude." Dean batted his hands away. "Personal space."

Sam smirked. "Nothing broken. You sit up?"

"Maybe?" Dean didn't tell him that Sam was wavering in his vision. He let Sam slide an arm under him and lift him up so he was sitting. "Oh crap." Dean dropped his head forward, closed his eyes, and concentrated on not throwing up.

"Yikes." Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair on the back of his head and found the disturbingly large knot that was making his eyes cross. He held a hand up in front of his brother's face. "How many fingers?"

Dean slapped it away…or tried to. He missed and growled, "Knock it off and get me up."

"Uh huh." Sam pulled his brother up slowly and was ready when he turned green. He kept an arm across Dean's chest to keep him from falling as he heaved up the fresh crab and apple pie they'd had for dinner before coming out here. By the time Dean was reduced to gasping breaths and the occasional dry heave, Sam was supporting all of his weight.

"No more crab," Dean panted and fought to get his legs under him. "Ever."

Sam leaned him back against the wall of the hole and took a good look at him. He was pale, sweaty, and from the glare in his green eyes, miserable. "Think you can get out of here if I boost you up?"

"I can climb," Dean argued and, in a display of adult behavior, stuck his tongue out at his little brother who grinned at him. "Fine. Yeah. Lift me up, Gigantor."

Sam chuckled. It wasn't often Dean was in the position of being helpless. "Please don't puke on my head."

"No promises." Dean gave him a lopsided smile and had to close his eyes when Sam turned him toward the wall. The movement made his head spin. "Crap."

"You ready?" Sam asked and became more concerned when all he got was a nod. He bent and wrapped his hands around Dean's left foot, heaved, and held him steady while his brother fumbled at getting a hold on the long grasses and pulling. Dean kicked his legs and Sam took a boot in the shoulder with a grunt. "Ow."

"Sorry." Dean dug in and finally rolled his legs up onto the ground. "K…I'm up." He lay on his back and breathed through the new bout of nausea.

Sam rubbed his shoulder. "Don't go anywhere." He saw Dean's shotgun with the moonlight's help and he picked it up, tossing it up beside Dean before climbing out himself. He knelt by Dean's head and squeezed his shoulder. "How you doing?"

"Head feels like one of Gallagher's melons," Dean groaned and pushed himself up with Sam's help. "Get me up, dammit." He couldn't afford to be laid out. They were here on a job, and the ghost wasn't going to politely wait while his eggs unscrambled.

Sam nodded and lifted him to his feet where Dean swayed for a moment before steadying. "You good?"

Dean snorted. "No, but I'll manage. Where's my gun?"

"Here." Sam bent and put his shotgun in his hands. "Come on. Let's get away from the hole." He shouldered Dean's bag as well. It must have dropped to the ground before Dean went down to lie beside the hole. He picked up his own shotgun and had to hunt for his flashlight.

"Islands suck, dude." Dean grumbled and started away, stumbling a little as his head made the ground move beneath him. He knew he was weaving and couldn't stop it.

"Hey, wait up there, Dizzy-D." Sam called, chuckling at Dean's wandering progress through the field.

Dean flipped him a finger for the nickname and then stopped. "Is that in my head?" He heard an electronic whine and looked back at his brother. Sam was staring down into the hole.

"Crap." Sam breathed. Dean's EMF meter was still down the hole and now screaming loudly as the needle no doubt buried itself. "We've got company." He heard a strange rattling sound as he turned to find Dean. "What the hell is that?"

Dean raised his shotgun, bracing it with both hands and looked around the clearing. He couldn't see anything but he could hear the new sound. "No idea." He had to splay his legs to stay standing in one place. His head wanted to send him spinning.

Sam started toward him and froze as the rattling stopped. Off to Dean's right, a cloud of…something rose into the air. Sam jerked the flashlight to it and, with a sickening feeling, realized what they were; rusted nails. The ghost had pulled them up from the foundations. As he watched, they turned to aim at his weaving brother. "Dean!" Sam broke into a run.

Dean stared at the cloud of nails, unable to make sense of them. They turned to point at him and he stumbled back a step. "Not good."

Sam plowed into Dean as the nails were released to speed toward him. He tackled him to the ground and cried out in pain as fire lit up along his left leg. They hit the ground and rolled into the grasses in a heap.

"Shit." Dean gasped. "Sam?"

"Yeah." Sam groaned and rolled off of him then just lay there gritting his teeth.

Dean sat up slowly and pulled the flashlight from Sam's hand. He played it down along his body and hissed as he saw the row of old nails protruding in a line down Sam's left leg like a porcupine. "Shit, Sammy."

"Ok," Sam said in a tight voice. "That…hurts." He was afraid to move his leg. Even the barest twitch was sending agony through him.

"Just…don't move yet." Dean put a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then moved to get a better look at his leg. His splitting headache was forgotten in concern. He checked the nails as carefully as he could, but still Sam gasped yet somehow managed not to move. "Ok. Don't think they hit anything vital but uh…they gotta come out kiddo." Dean moved back to his head and Sam nodded. "Can't get you outta here like that."

"Stuck here…til dawn." Sam reminded him.

"I know." Dean pulled the bag from Sam's arm and rifled through it for the first aid kit. It was only bare essentials. He'd have given anything for the big kit in the Impala's trunk just then; the painkillers and the bottle of whiskey…purely medicinal of course. "You want something to bite down on?"

Sam felt through the grass and came up with a stick that would do the job. "Go on. Get them out." He put the stick in his teeth and dropped his head back. This was going to suck.

Dean leaned in over his head and rested a hand in his hair. "This is gonna hurt. A lot."

Sam looked up and saw concern clearly on his big brother's face. More, there was fear. It took his pain-addled brain a moment to figure it out and he sighed. Dean was worried that Sam was scared of him; of him causing him pain after being beaten near to death by the shifter wearing his face. "It's ok, Dean." He said softly.

Dean watched the look of absolute trust and faith in him flow across Sam's face and felt his throat close up with emotion. He smiled softly as something inside he wasn't even aware had been broken, healed. "You're such a girl," He said in a voice rough with emotion.

Dean patted his arm, settled finally, and bent to his grizzly task. He counted eleven of the damn things. There was no way Sam was getting out of a trip to a clinic after this one. He'd need every shot they had to cancel out whatever plague was on the ancient nails. He took the scissors from the kit first and cut up the leg of Sam's jeans until he reached the first nail. There he stopped and wedged the end of the nail into the crux of the scissors like a pair of pliers. "First one, Sam. One. Two. Three." He pulled the nail out with a little sickening squelch. Sam yelled around the stick and clamped a hand onto Dean's leg. "Ok. Ok." Dean leaned over him. Sam was panting for air, eyes closed tight and his face pale in the moonlight. He pushed the dark hair off his forehead and left his hand there until Sam blinked up at him.

Sam spit the stick out. "Sorry." The pain had nearly put him out. He didn't want to know how many more nails Dean had to remove. "You ok?"

Dean shook his head with a small laugh. "Better than you." That was Sam; always more worried about his brother than himself no matter what shape he was in. Dean took the stick and put it back in Sam's mouth. "Here we go." Sam nodded and Dean went back to his leg. He glanced up around the empty clearing but saw no sign of the ghost, and the EMF meter was silent in its hole for the moment. The ghost must have spent its energy with the nails for now, at least. He cut the denim up to the next nail and repeated the process.

By the time he was done, Dean was sweating almost as badly as Sam who had passed out around nail seven. There were two nails still in his leg just above his knee. They had gone into the bone, and he was afraid to wiggle them out and fracture it. They'd have to stay in until they reached civilization. He packed a careful bandage around them to try and secure them and had pretty well mummified Sam's legs with bandages for the holes he'd made removing the other nails. He took a moment and rested his head in his hands, trying to will the pounding headache to back off. He didn't have time for a damn concussion now. When it was bearable again, he pulled Sam's head and shoulders into his lap and tapped his cheeks.

"Come on, Sam. Rise and shine." Dean cradled his head and smiled as weary blue-green eyes cracked open.

"Why's it feel like...still nails in my leg?" Sam raised his head a little and his brows rose. "Dude…missed a couple."

"Didn't miss 'em, Sammy." Dean pulled him up a little so he was sitting against his shoulder. "Had to leave them in. They're in the bone." Sam blanched. "It'll be fine. We'll get you out of here and they can pop 'em out at the hospital."

"What about the ghost?" Sam looked around them. "Can't just leave him here. He'll keep killing."

"We'll come back when you're all patched up and my head's not spinning like a damn top." Dean used one arm to pack everything back into the bag and pull it onto his shoulder. He grabbed Sam's shotgun and put it in his lap near his hands. "Take this." While Sam wrapped weak hands around the stock of the gun, Dean grabbed his own and sighed. "Ok. Time to get vertical. Deep breath."

Sam nodded. How he managed not to pass out again as Dean levered him to his feet was a mystery to him. The agony as his knee shifted and the feel of the nails in the bone above it were a new level of misery. It was several moments before he realized Dean was speaking to him and that he had both hands fisted in Dean's jacket with his face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

"Sammy? You with me?" Dean grunted under the weight of keeping him standing and toyed with the idea of just laying him down and pouring a damn salt circle around him until morning.

"Ok. I'm ok," Sam managed finally and got his head up. "That hurt…like a bitch."

Dean chuckled. "If you're cussing it must have. Come on." Dean pulled him into a slow, ungainly walk. He decided they'd head for the sandbar and find a decent place to hole up for the night. The job could wait a day or three. It took them twice as long to cross the open ground back to the trees with Sam having to stagger unsteadily with Dean's support, which was none to steady itself as his eyes kept crossing. As they neared the trees, Sam wobbled to a halt.

"Wait. Wait." Sam stopped and leaned heavily into his brother.

"Dude, what? We need to find somewhere safe to stash you til morning. Come on." Dean pulled on him but Sam stayed rooted.

"No, wait." Sam shook his head and looked back into the old resort clearing. "The ghost." He looked back around to Dean. "All those people he killed, he never injured them."

"He killed them, Sam. I'd call that injured." Dean tried to get him moving again, but Sam stubbornly stayed put.

"No, no. I mean, there were never marks of violence on the bodies." He stared up at Dean, willing him to understand. "Why now? Why you? What's different?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean rolled his eyes and then stopped. He looked out into the empty field and back to Sam. "He did get awful pissed." He said slowly. "Like…you stepped on my grave pissed." His eyes widened. "Son of a bitch."

"The hole. His bones have to be in there." Sam nodded.

"Ah, hell." Dean dropped his head and then turned them back toward the haphazard field. "Ok. We can come back in the morning," He said, but he wasn't fond of that plan.

"No." Sam shook his head. "He could come after us at any time." He wiped a hand over his face. "Gotta do it now."

"I don't like it." Dean growled, but he started them moving back toward the hole. As they neared the last tree before the clearing, Dean stopped. "You're staying here."

"What? No!" Sam argued, but could offer little resistance as Dean lowered him down until he was sitting with his back to the tree and panting for relief from the agony in his leg.

"Look, this is close enough. Casper shows his ugly face, you can blast him while I find his bones." Dean stared down the rebellious look on Sam's face. "You're out there with me, all I'm gonna do is worry about you." It was low, he knew, but it would also get through. It did.

Sam sighed miserably. "Fine. I'll stay here." He felt worse than useless.

"Hey, if it weren't for you, I'd be the pincushion." Dean smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before standing. "Watch my back."

"Always," Sam said, determined, and got his shotgun ready. He didn't like it; absolutely did not like being left behind while Dean went out there alone, but Dean was right. In his condition, he'd be a liability. He could barely stand let alone anything else. The burning sensation in his leg from the still embedded nails was sickening but at least sitting down, it lessened slightly.

Dean jogged across the field back to the hole and stopped at the edge. He shined the flashlight down, dropped the bag at the edge, and sighed. "Great." The bones were likely buried under the soil and rotted wood he'd fallen through. He looked back to Sam and gave a short wave to him before he sat and dropped inside. The moonlight shone down to him, so he put the flashlight away, leaned his shotgun up against the wall, and started digging.

As he cleared bits of broken wood and tossed them up and out, he cringed at the number of rusty old nails he could have landed on. He'd gotten very lucky he realized. The soil and grass that had come in with him had protected him and softened an otherwise disastrous landing. He kept one longer piece of wood and used it to help shovel dirt and debris to the sides. His EMF meter made itself known with a growing whine that led him to it off to one side. He grabbed it and dove for his shotgun.

"Sam! Incoming!" Dean shouted, and heard the muffled response. He started combing through the shrinking pile of earth one handed with the board, unwilling to set his gun aside with an angry spirit nearby. He jumped at the sound of a shotgun blast and leaped to the side of the hole, half climbing out. "Sam?"

"Keep going!" Sam yelled. He was propped up against his tree and reloading the shotgun. He watched Dean nod and drop out of sight again. The ghost had come toward Dean's position like a screaming cloud, and Sam had only just had time to fire and dissipate it before it reached his brother. He looked around the ground and saw a stout stick a few feet away. He needed to get closer.

"Ok. I can do this." Sam lowered himself slowly to the ground. He groaned and fought the need to pass out when he jarred his leg. He checked the field again, seeing it still empty and leaned out on the ground, fingers reaching for the limb.

Dean dug in earnest. He'd found a leg bone and worked to uncover the rest of the skeleton without dislodging the bones themselves. He needed to be sure he got them all. He set the shotgun down and used both hands to move the loose earth as more of the dead man's body was revealed.

"Got you now, jackass," Dean growled. He froze as the breath from his words blew out in a cold vapor as the EMF beside him began to scream. "Oh, crap." He looked up and reared back. The ghost appeared not a foot away and darted one pale hand toward his throat. Dean felt icy fingers slide around and then into his neck, squeezing. He waved his arm wildly over the ground behind him trying to find the shotgun. As his fingers touched the stock, the ghost flicked his other hand and Dean felt it ripped away. Wild, mad eyes stared down at his. Rage twisted a once-handsome mouth into a rictus grin, and Dean fought for breath as the face neared his own.

The sudden blast of a shotgun startled him at the same moment rock salt rained across the top of his head and into the spirit. The dead man screamed in anger as he vanished, and Dean fell forward gasping grateful breaths for a moment.

"Dean." Sam's pained voice made him suck it up. Dean straightened and looked over his shoulder. Sam was balanced precariously on a tree limb under his left arm while he aimed the shotgun with the other and looked about ready to fall over.

"Thanks." Dean rubbed a hand over his throat and grimaced. "Nice timing."

Sam nodded and groaned. He couldn't hold himself up any longer and started the slow slide to the ground. "M'okay," he said as Dean's worried face popped up to look at him. He waved his hand. "Hurry up."

"Almost done," Dean assured him and dropped back down. He quickly cleared the rest of the dirt away and stood over the skeleton bared to the moonlight. He resisted the urge to kick the skull, picked up his shotgun and the EMF meter, and scrambled back topside. "You ok?" He watched Sam nod and knew he wasn't. Dean pulled the salt canister and lighter fluid from the bag and started pouring them into the hole over the bones with gusto.

"Time to fry, Casper." Dean squeezed a little more fluid than he needed and then pulled his Zippo out of his pocket and stood.

"Dean? Flame next, in case you forgot," Sam said and wondered why he didn't just light the thing up.

"Patience, tiger." Dean heard the meter on the ground beside him begin to whine and grinned. A moment later, the ghost returned, standing across the hole. He spun the wheel on the lighter and, as the flame lit, tossed it down into the hole where the fluid caught instantly. Flames roared up into the night, and the spirit screamed its rage and fear as it was consumed and vanished forever. "Good riddance." He had wanted to see it happen.

Sam shook his head, amused. "Remind me…never to piss you off." He lay back with a thump, spent.

Dean snorted. "Too late, and you're still alive." He packed everything hastily back into the bag by the waning firelight and then knelt beside his brother. "You look like hell," He smirked as Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on. Back to the sandbar."

"I can stay here." Sam was exhausted. The walk from the tree across the field to the hole had taken everything he had left. He'd been unable to shake the feeling that he was too far away and Dean was going to need him, so he'd gritted his teeth and hobbled the distance through the shooting agony in his leg.

"Nope." Dean slid an arm under his shoulders and lifted Sam up, then pulled one of his arms across his shoulders. "Clouds coming in from the east. Unless you wanna sit out here in the rain."

"Balls," Sam muttered breathlessly and made his brother laugh.

"I'm tellin' Bobby next time we see him." Dean grinned and pulled Sam to his feet, well foot. "I could always carry you."

"Just gimme the damn stick," Sam said, his pride piqued. "I can walk."

"Yeah. Yeah." Dean chuckled but bent and grabbed the tree limb, handing it to him. He waited for Sam to get it situated and then started them at a slow hobble back toward the beach. Despite his protest that he could walk, Dean was supporting most of his weight as they navigated the forest back to the beach. "Gotta stop feeding you, Sasquatch." He hitched Sam's arm higher on his shoulders.

"Good thing…the ghost didn't go for your heart," Sam said as though he'd been pondering that for a while, "like the others."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Dean glanced down and saw his eyes closed. They were almost in sight of the beach. He could hear the surf, and a gentle rain had started falling, the trees above blocking most of it. Dean lowered Sam carefully to lean against a large tree and sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder to wait for the morning. "Trust me. Wasn't any picnic with him trying to choke me out." He rubbed his neck in memory.

Sam smirked and let his head roll to rest on his brother's shoulder. "Little tighter and…would'a been quiet for a few days." He gave a sleepy chuckle and didn't react when Dean lightly slapped the side of his head.

"Watch it, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes but moved to get an arm around him. "I can still take those last two nails out myself."

"Would not." Sam was drifting, heading toward exhausted sleep and smiled again. "Probably got hot nurses."

Dean laughed. "Go to sleep, pincushion." He got as comfortable as he could with Sam's weight against him and settled to listen to the surf and rain, shotgun at his side, through the night.

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Dean blinked heavy eyes open and startled to realize he'd fallen asleep. He raised his head from the pillow of Sam's shaggy hair where it'd been resting and was grateful his little brother wasn't awake to tease him about it. The rain continued falling steadily, if gently,and his internal clock told him it was somewhere near dawn; that and the slowly brightening quality to the greyness all around them.

"Sammy." Dean took the side of his brother's face and rolled it so he could see him. His skin was warmer than it should be with a sweat broken out across his brow. "Ok, kiddo. Time to wake up. Gotta get you outta here, Sam."

Sam sighed softly and his eyes fluttered open. "Dean?"

"Time to go." Dean slapped his face lightly and smiled. "Don't make me carry you, dude."

"I c'n walk." Sam slurred and let his eyes drop closed again for a moment. "S'hot." He muttered, feeling as though he were sitting in a sauna while his leg was a steady burn of pain.

Dean pushed back the worry and took a firm grip around his chest. "Just let me do the work here." It took him several minutes to get Sam standing, and then they had to spend a few more with Dean bracing him against the bole of the tree to keep him from crashing back down. "You with me?"

Sam nodded weakly and took some of his weight on his good leg. "Yeah." He let Dean get a secure grip around his waist. "We can go."

"Ok, gimp boy." Dean got him moving slowly, one hitching step at a time. It wasn't too difficult moving over the more firm ground, but once they reached sand, he had to go even more slowly as Sam's feet insisted on catching and trying to trip them both.

Sam raised his head as they cleared the trees and looked out over the narrow stretch of water and the curving sandbar that was beginning to appear from beneath the waters. "S'dawn." Wisps of thick fog drifted over the surface of the water and obscured the coastline beyond. "Got…got two hours til it…it floods again."

"Well unless you're planning on takin' a nap out there, that's more than we need." Dean smirked and pulled him back into motion. The wet sand shifted beneath their feet and Dean groaned. "Ok. This isn't gonna work. Sorry, dude."

"Huh?" Sam was only half-aware as heat raged through him with the pain. He didn't understand at first why they'd stopped until Dean turned him and tipped him carefully over his shoulder. "Dean…wait…"

"Gotta be done, Sammy." Dean heard the anguished tone in his brother's voice and steeled himself, paying attention instead to his feet as he strode slowly over the unsteady sands toward the shore. "Don't puke down my back."

Even in his fevered haze, Sam was lucid enough to snort a soft laugh. "Gotta…gotta great target," he said, and thumped a fist into Dean's ass.

"Don't even joke, you little shit!" Dean growled and staggered, quickly righting himself. "Should'a pulled those damn nails out myself," he grumbled and kept moving. Dean, with his back to the island and Sam so focused on keeping his stomach to himself, neither man saw the shadow hovering in the tree line, watching them leave.

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_To Be Continued… _


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Isle of Lost Souls

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** Ahhhhh hope everyone had as wonderful a Thanksgiving as I did. :D Spent it with my bestie and fellow FanFic author Xenascully and her family. So much food and…seven…yes seven pies kids. It was…so very Deantastic. LOL Now then, back to work!

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – So awesome she gets a cameo here. :D Thank you Janice! My Muse and I adore you and your suggestions/prompts/reasons I keep churning out fic the way I do. Heh heh heh

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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_The wet sand shifted beneath their feet and Dean groaned. "Ok. This isn't gonna work. Sorry, dude."_

"_Huh?" Sam was only half-aware as heat raged through him with the pain. He didn't understand at first why they'd stopped until Dean turned him and tipped him carefully over his shoulder. "Dean…wait…"_

"_Gotta be done, Sammy." Dean heard the anguished tone in his brother's voice and steeled himself, paying attention instead to his feet as he strode slowly over the unsteady sands toward the shore. "Don't puke down my back."_

_Even in his fevered haze Sam was lucid enough to snort a soft laugh. "Gotta…gotta great target." He said and thumped a fist into Dean's ass._

"_Don't even joke, you little shit!" Dean growled and staggered, quickly righting himself. "Should'a pulled those damn nails out myself." He grumbled and kept moving. Dean with his back to the island and Sam so focused on keeping his stomach to himself, neither man saw the shadow hovering in the tree line, watching them leave._

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**CHAPTER 3**

Dean leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and stared at the waiting room ceiling. They had whisked Sam away when he'd staggered into the clinic with a mostly unconscious little brother on his shoulder, and he'd yet to see a single doctor or nurse. It had been over an hour, and he knew if he had one more cup of the vile sludge masquerading as coffee, he'd be spewing it back on the nearest floor.

"Mr. Neiman?"

Dean jerked upright as the Nurse finally emerged. "Sam? How's my brother?"

"He'll be fine. You can see him now if you'll follow me." The nurse, a pretty young woman with short brown curls gave him a smile and headed back down the hall.

Dean followed and allowed himself to take a breath in relief. "How's his leg?"

The nurse stopped and pushed open a door, waving him in. "The doctor can explain. Go on in."

Dean walked past her into the small room and grinned at the sight of his bandaged and highly irritated brother trying to shove the tube out from under his nose while the doctor argued to keep it there. "Sammy, stop screwin' around. Let the guy do his job."

"Thank you." The doctor gave Sam another stern look and pushed the tube back where it belonged.

"I'm fine. I don't need it." Sam glared up at both of them.

"What's the verdict?" Dean ignored his brother and looked at the physician instead. "Gonna amputate his chicken leg or what?"

The doctor smirked and shook his head. "No. No. His leg will be fine. We were able to remove the nails easily and avoid fracturing the bone, though it's going to be extremely sore for a few days. He'll need to stay off that leg for a bit." He looked down at his recalcitrant patient. "You have an infection and a fever, Sam. Those nails were anything but clean. I expect you to take the antibiotics I prescribe."

"Oh, he'll take 'em," Dean nodded firmly and crossed his arms when Sam gave him another glare.

"Not a child, Dean." Sam sat back with a thump in the bed and let his head drop to the pillow.

"Oh, yeah, we can see that," Dean drawled and shook his head.

The doctor chuckled. "I'll have the nurse bring the prescriptions and his paperwork. I assume you'll want to check him out before he decides on a prison break."

Dean gave a startled laugh as Sam threw his arms up in the air. "Not funny!" Sam glared equally at both of them.

"It's a little funny, dude." Dean snorted and went to the chair by the bed as the doctor left and sat. The box mounted on the I.V. stand beside Sam's bed gave a series of beeps, and Dean watched as his brother's eyes rolled and glazed over. He chuckled and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Automatic morphine drip?"

Sam nodded and smirked, his bad mood forgotten. "S'good stuff."

"Oh, man." Dean sat back to enjoy the show.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." Sam struggled to sit up and made his brother laugh again. "What…wha'…" He ran his tongue around his mouth. "Um…what'd you tell 'em 'bout…" He gestured to his leg and looked earnestly at Dean.

"That you found Dad's old nail gun in the garage and dropped it and shot yourself." Dean smothered another laugh behind his hand. "Not sure they believed me exactly, but they stopped asking questions so I call it a win." He patted Sam's shoulder as he flopped back on the bed. "Nurses think you're a total klutz…which you are."

"Nice, De…Dean." Sam managed a passable glare. "You…you're a real ass, you know that?"

Dean stood and slapped a hand to his backside with a grin. "That's grade-A prime chick magnet ass, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes with a snort and listened to Dean pace around the room while the painkillers began to pull him under. His mind drifted back to the island and the ghost, the terrifying moment he'd seen the nails coming for his brother, and then the image of Dean with the spirit's hand in his throat choking the life from him. He fell asleep with the hunt replaying through his mind and a frown on his face.

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Sam slowly swam up out of the warm, dark place where he had been floating. He wanted very much to stay there, away from the pain he knew was waiting for him, but he thought he had something important to tell Dean. His thoughts scattered as he came closer and closer to wakefulness and distantly heard his brother say his name and felt a warm hand on his neck. He tried to catch the stray thoughts and the thing he'd wanted to remember. It was important. He heard his name spoken again and came awake all at once in a rush as he lurched upright and found Dean holding his shoulders to keep him from tumbling off the bed.

"It wasn't him!" Sam gasped and grabbed at Dean's arm.

"Whoa, tiger!" Dean had seen Sam finally coming out of the morphine induced sleep and gotten to him just as he suddenly sat forward and nearly cracked their heads together. "Take it easy."

Sam stared at him with intense focus as the cobwebs still worked to clear from his mind. "It wasn't the ghost!"

"What? Not making a lot of sense here, Sam." Dean slid an arm behind his back and gave his shoulder a push. "Lay down already and take a breath."

Sam fought to stay upright and instead managed to push so he was sitting up against the headboard. "The ghost…the one we killed. It wasn't him." Sam shook his head and willed him to understand. "He wasn't the ghost crushing people's hearts. When we left, he didn't come after us. He didn't attack us again until you went back to his bones. We missed something."

Dean stared and then sighed as his shoulders slumped. "I know."

"You know?"

"They found another body this morning," Dean told him gently and felt the tremor of guilt pass through Sam's shoulder beneath his hand. "This isn't our fault, dude. We couldn't have known."

"We should have." Sam let out a rough breath and stopped fighting him. "It's our job. Save people."

"Yeah, well we can't save everyone, and we were a little distracted," Dean reminded him and stood. "How's the leg feel?"

The pain hadn't registered until Dean asked and then it was there, burning away. "Crap," Sam hissed and leaned forward to place a hand over the bandages beneath the blanket and press firmly to try and alleviate it. "Feels like they're still in there." He looked around and his eyes widened in surprise. "When did we get to a motel?" He was lying on the bed furthest from the door as was their habit, mostly because, despite that fact that Sam was now bigger than him and quite capable of taking care of himself, Dean still found it impossible to relax unless he was between his brother and any threat from the outside world. He couldn't recall coming into the room, and he really thought he should have been able to remember his first sight of a room the sixties had forgotten. The blanket over his legs was an obnoxious paisley quilt, while one wall of the room was entirely covered in glittery beads. The back wall beside the bathroom door had a macramé hanging in every color of the rainbow done in swirls and spots that made his stomach churn uncomfortably, and he looked away to the lime green paint on the walls.

"Dude, you were wasted on the morphine," Dean chuckled and came back to him with a bottle of water. "You were singing 'You are my sunshine' when we came in here."

"I was not." Sam opened the bottle and took a drink as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Were too." Dean swatted his shoulder and sat on the other bed. "Would I lie?"

Sam gave him a look of complete disbelief and long-suffering. "In a heartbeat." He drank greedily from the bottle and then set it aside. All in all, he didn't feel anywhere near as bad as he had on the island. His leg hurt to be sure but the pain was manageable and while he could still feel the vestiges of a fever, he knew it had come down. Dean's complete lack of a show of concern was testament that he was in no danger. He sat up and carefully swung his injured leg over the side of the bed.

"Whoa, where you think you're going?" Dean stood as Sam got to his feet and grabbed his elbow.

"Bathroom," Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "Think I can manage without help, thanks."

Dean let him go and watched as Sam walked gingerly across the room and into the bathroom. He wanted Sam to sit the hunt out for a few days while his leg healed, but he knew Sam would never let him go back to the island on his own. He shook his head and dropped back to sit on the bed. "Stubborn ass."

Sam came out of the bathroom and felt slightly better after brushing his teeth. A shower would have completed the job, but one look at his leg mummified in the bandages had dissuaded him. The shower could wait. "We need to go back out there," he said as he went to his bag and rooted through it for his other pair of jeans.

"We need to figure out what the hell we're after this time," Dean said firmly and tossed the television remote aside. "We don't know how many more ghosts are out there."

Sam sat to pull on his jeans and shrugged. "Could be pirate ghosts from Captain Kidd's day or whatever curse he was supposed to have put on his treasure, assuming that's even really there. There are also rumors of an Indian curse." He stood and buttoned his jeans then reached over for a fresh shirt. "Not to mention all the tourists and kayakers who've drowned around the island."

"So this place could be ghost central. Awesome." Dean rolled off the bed and knelt by his brother's legs, grabbing his shoes. "Don't argue with me," He told Sam as he took his foot and shoved on a boot. "No way you're bending down here with that bum leg yet." Dean ducked his head to hide a small smile at how natural this still felt, remembering the countless times he had done exactly the same thing for his little brother when he was still actually little.

Sam huffed an irritated breath but let him. He felt like a child with his big brother putting his shoes on for him and definitely didn't like that he was right. He'd been wondering how he was going to bend his leg enough to get his boot on. He was walking and he didn't feel that bad, but the pain from where the nails had been embedded in the bone still burned angrily at him when he moved. "There are some charms we can make to give us some protection if it is a curse that's killing people. We've got most of what I need in the trunk. Thanks." He stood when Dean was done and went to grab his jacket. "We can get the rest in town."

"What kind of protection we talkin' about?" Dean opened the door and followed Sam out to the car.

"More like a warning really. They'll get warm if a curse tries to interfere with us and, in theory, ward it off." Sam shrugged. "Temporarily anyway."

"See, why couldn't you have said, 'Hey, Dean, with these charms, no curse can ever hurt us, ever?' But no, you gotta toy with me." Dean tossed him a glare when Sam chuckled. "Get in the car already, stumpy."

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"Seriously? I have to put this stinky piece of crap in my pocket?" Dean asked and held up the offending little cloth bag tied with a string between his thumb and forefinger as he drove.

Sam snorted, bent over a similar bag in his lap as he carefully tied it closed. "Actually, you should wear it around your neck." He pointed to the long loop of string hanging from the one Dean held. "So it touches your skin." He brushed his forearm over his forehead and bent back to his task, jumping when Dean's hand landed on his neck.

"Still runnin' that fever, dude." Dean sighed. "We could take a day…"

"Dean." Sam turned to give him a pointed look. "We can't. That woman who died this morning? That's on us." On me, Sam added silently. If he'd only been faster, avoided the nails, they would have finished the job properly. "We have to figure this out before anyone else dies."

Dean nodded, unhappy. "Fine." They had spent most of the day in the local library again doing more research. This time Dean had been at his side rather than goofing off and had even managed to convince Sam to take a nap in the car that afternoon while he continued searching. For such a small island,it had a hell of a long and colorful history with more than its fair share of potential spooks. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to salt and burn an entire island. The thought made him smile, wondering what his Dad would say to such a wild idea. He glanced over at his walking wounded brother and figured their father would get behind that plan.

"The sandbar should be above water soon," Sam commented with a glance at his watch. The sun had set and the last daylight was fading into evening. He finished his charm and bundled up the mess in his lap. He reached over and set it in the back seat before hanging the charm bag around his neck and tucking it under his shirt against his chest. "Ok, these really are kind of smelly."

Dean snorted. "Ya think?" He held up his own and shook his head. Dean slid the thong over his right wrist and twisted a few times until the charm was wrapped firmly against his wrist, lying next to his skin. "I'm not putting this thing that close to my nose. Skin is skin."

Thickening fog drifted across the road as they drove along the edge of the salt marsh that lined the coast. Ropes of it obscured the view, allowing only glimpses of the island as a dark shape on the horizon as they neared. The moon hung above them and cast a faint, silvery light down on the ocean through the thin cloud cover obscuring the stars. Dean pulled off the road into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He watched Sam open his door, try to get out, and thump back into the seat with a groan.

"Yeah, this is gonna go well," Dean grumbled at his stubborn brother. He got out and went around the car. "Come on, cripple."

"Just stiffened up," Sam muttered and let Dean take his arm and pull him up so he was standing. "I'll be fine once I'm moving again."

"Do my sanity a favor and stick close." Dean slapped his shoulder and went to the trunk. "Not carrying your ass off the island again, Sasquatch."

Sam chuckled and straightened his left leg out to work out the kinks. He swallowed the moan at the pain the movement caused and took a few experimental steps, looking out on the foggy marshes that started just beyond the car. He put his weight on his bad leg and then stopped, squinting out into the darkness. "Uh…Dean?" A shadowy figure moved among the tall reeds, coming closer as he watched.

"What the hell?" Dean asked softly as he came up beside his brother. He put the bag over his shoulder and took out the EMF, flicking it on. It stayed silent. "Huh. Not a ghost."

Sam watched the figure weave among the reeds closer and closer. He took out his gun and held it along his leg, Dean doing the same beside him as he angled slightly in front of Sam."Would a curse set off the EMF?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know. Probably not." He took out a flashlight and waited until the figure drew near, less than twenty feet away. He clicked on the light and shined it into the thing's face.

"Oh, my god! What?"

"Um…" Sam chuckled and lowered his brother's arm. It was a woman who threw her arms up over her face as Dean's light blinded her. "Sorry about that."

Dean grinned and then took a step back when a dog that looked to be at least partly Golden Retriever but definitely lacking in that breed's typical 'I-just-met-you-you're-my-new-best-friend' attitude, jumped out from behind the reeds, taking a protective stance in front of her and growled a warning at the brothers. "Wanna call your guard dog off, lady?"

"Well, that depends." She lowered her arms and studied the two boys. She dropped a hand to the dog's head but made no move to stop him growling.

"We didn't mean to scare you," Sam said earnestly and held his hand out while he slid his gun behind him. "I'm sorry. I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. He scares most people."

Dean slapped a hand up the back of his brother's head with a growl. "You know I can toss your smart ass in the ocean."

The woman chuckled softly and patted her dog's head. The dog gave a small whine and then sat back against her legs. She took them in, the two tall men and their sleek, black car and she smiled. "He must be the big brother," She said to the long-suffering look on Sam's face. "I'm Jan. You two boys aren't planning on going out there, are you? It's dangerous." She brushed dark curls off her forehead and looked at them, waiting.

"We are,but I promise we'll be careful," Dean said flippantly and grinned.

Jan sniffed and shook her head. "Well, don't stay out there too long. You've only got another hour or so before the tide comes in. Come on, Jasper." She tapped her thigh and the dog rose eagerly to walk beside her as she headed past the car. "I'd hate to see your faces on the morning news." She patted Sam's arm in a motherly fashion as she passed. "Far too attractive to end up feeding the fish." She took a few more steps passing the Impala, and glanced back. "Nice car, by the way."

They watched her leave until she was lost in the fog and Dean snorted a laugh. "Dude. I think she likes you. But at least she's got good taste in cars."

"Shut up." Sam elbowed him and took the shotgun Dean handed him. "She's sweet."

Dean nodded and looked over his shoulder for a moment. "Yeah. Kinda nice to know someone cares if we get hosed by a ghost tonight."

"Well, let's not let that happen. Come on." Sam started off at a slow limp toward the causeway with Dean beside him. The day's heat had yet to cool, and he welcomed the breeze off the ocean as it blew his hair back and dried the fever sweat on his face.

The sandbar was well above the water, unlike the first time they'd gone out to the island for which Sam was thankful. He didn't want a repeat of that last trip and his near drowning. The sand shifted beneath his feet, throwing him off balance, and just like that, Dean was there, sliding his arm across his shoulder. "I can walk, dude."

Dean smirked. "Shut up, Sammy." He had his own memories of Sam's little swim and didn't need to see him fall into the damn ocean with his bum leg. "Get across faster if I'm not waiting for you to hobble over there."

"Next time I'll let you play pincushion," Sam grumbled but didn't mean it. Silently he was grateful for the support, but there was no way he'd let Dean know that.

"How about we just stay away from pointy things tonight since you're so jeopardy friendly." Dean grinned at him.

"You're the one who fell in the damn hole!" Sam hip-checked him lightly with a laugh as they stumbled a step forward.

"Shut up." Dean kept his eyes trained on the island as they neared and stopped them both in their tracks. "Saw something." A shadow had moved among the trees.

"Another dog walker?" Sam asked and took his arm back, raising the shotgun.

Dean shook his head. "Don't think they move like that." The shadow had glided between the trunks and vanished. He raised the EMF meter in his hand and though the needle twitched, it didn't climb as it had for the ghost. "Come on." He took Sam's arm again and got them off the sandbar and onto firmer ground. "Hope these charms of yours work, cause we're obviously not sneaking up on whatever this is."

"Me too." Sam took his own weight as they reached the tree line and raised a brow when the EMF meter suddenly screamed. "Dean?"

"Why can't anything ever be easy?" Dean groused and swept his light through the darkened woods. The weak moonlight did little to break the darkness beneath the trees and only served to make the wisps of fog stand out more. He walked ahead into the trees and heard Sam limping behind him at his back. "Don't suppose you've got any idea where we should look."

Sam shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. There was a burial ground on the east side of the island, assuming it's an Indian curse. If it's pirates…" He raised a hand in defeat. "The only people who were supposed to have found the treasure were never heard from again."

"Awesome." Dean froze as he caught sight of the shadow again, further back in the trees. He flicked the meter off and tucked it in his pocket, grateful when silence fell. He wanted to be able to hear something sneaking up on them.

"I saw it that time." Sam looked around them and behind. He could still see the ocean and causeway through a break in the trees and hear the sound of the surf. A tinkling sound drew his eyes to his left. It sounded again to his right. A twig snapped and both men tensed, waiting. "You hearing this?"

"Yep." Dean scowled as a low groan swept along the night air. It seemed to come from all around them. "I officially don't like this." He put his back to his brother's and narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel like we've walked into a damn ambush?"

"How could it, whatever 'it' is, know we were going to come back?" Sam asked and twitched as he felt a ghostly touch along his face accompanied by a sharp chill that quickly faded. "I suppose if it were aware enough, it could have heard us talking about coming back when we were here."

Dean jumped as he felt a touch along his thigh and cursed. "Dammit!" He backed up and bumped into Sam's back. "They're screwing with us. Not giving us anything to shoot at."

"Stay or go?" Sam cocked the shotgun as something tugged at his hair with cold fingers. "We could come back in the morning. Do this in daylight?"

"Better chance we're seen." Dean growled in anger. "But less chance we get mobbed. Ok. Let's go." He took a step back again, expecting to run into his brother. He gasped and spun when he didn't. "Sam?" His brother was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, no. No. No! Sammy?" He shined his light frantically around him but found no sign of him. The only prints he could see on the ground were theirs coming from the shore. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. "Sam!"

Groaning answered him, and he watched as the wisps of mist began to gather together around him in a circle. Shapes began to form; arms, legs, and they shambled slowly toward him. He aimed the flashlight at them and his eyes went wide in shock. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." The unmistakable ghosts of a half dozen long-dead pirates surrounded him.

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_To Be Continued…. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Isle of Lost Souls

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** I know. I'm rotten. I can't help myself. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_Dean jumped as he felt a touch along his thigh and cursed. "Dammit!" He backed up and bumped into Sam's back. "They're screwing with us. Not giving us anything to shoot at."_

"_Stay or go?" Sam cocked the shotgun as something tugged at his hair with cold fingers. "We could come back in the morning. Do this in daylight?"_

"_Better chance we're seen." Dean growled in anger. "But less chance we get mobbed. Ok. Let's go." He took a step back again, expecting to run into his brother. He gasped and spun when he didn't. "Sam?" His brother was nowhere to be seen. "Oh no. No. No! Sammy?" He shined his light frantically around him but found no sign of him. The only prints he could see on the ground were theirs coming from the shore. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean shouted. "Sam!"_

_Groaning answered him and he watched as the wisps of mist began to gather together around him in a circle. Shapes began to form; arms, legs and they shambled slowly toward him. He aimed the flashlight at them and his eyes went wide in shock. "Oh you have got to be kidding me." The unmistakable ghosts of a half dozen long dead pirates surrounded him._

_**CHAPTER 4**_

Dean swallowed hard against the lump of fear in his throat for his missing brother as the spirits drew closer. He raised his shotgun and fired at them, dispersing two with one shot of the rock salt. He didn't wait to see what the others would do and ran through the hole he had created. He was intent on finding Sam. He couldn't have gone far; the island wasn't that damn big.

"Sam!" Dean yelled into the night. He spared a glance over his shoulder as a chorus of eerie cries went up from the ghosts behind him. "Come on, dammit! Sam!" He spun and fired again as one of the ghostly pirates closed on him. It evaporated with the salt and two more took its place. "Where the hell were you assholes last night, huh?" It chilled him to realize how lucky they had been the night before, spending an entire night on the island and not running into the spirit mob. He dodged around a tree, bounced off another, and jumped as a phantom hand smoothed down his backside with a chill.

"Hey! Hands off the merchandise!" Dean yelled angrily. "Great." He shot another round at a ghost materializing in front of him and began to hastily reload. "I gotta get the handsy pirates." He jammed salt rounds into the gun as fast as he could but not fast enough. One of the pirates appeared in front of him, and the gun was ripped from his hands to spin off into the trees. The phantom hands returned, taking his arms and legs this time and tugging him back against the tree while the spectral pirates closed around him.

"Where's my brother?" Dean shouted and grunted, struggling in vain to free himself. The nearest pirate grinned at him beneath a tattered tri-corn hat, pushing his face into Dean's on a puff of freezing air. "I know I'm pretty…but I am _not_ your type, pal." Dean turned his head to the side and felt more phantom hands on his body. The ghost reached toward Dean's face with skeletal fingers and, despite Dean's desperate attempt to pull away from the touch, the spirit slid his hand inside Dean's head. Pain erupted inside his skull so strong it whited out his vision and stole his breath. Now he understood how Sam had been taken without a sound. It froze and burned at the same time, and he tumbled gratefully into unconsciousness.

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Dean groaned and gasped awake with a start, the memory of a ghostly hand in his head driving his eyes open. "Shit!" He hadn't expected to still be alive and the surprise rushed adrenaline through his system. He tried to move and growled when he felt restraints at his wrists and ankles. He turned his head up and saw he was lying on the beach with his hands staked out above him on each side. He pulled experimentally and found the ropes secure.

"Welcome back."

"Sammy?" Dean jerked his head to his left with the sound of his brother's voice so close. Relief sucked the air out of him for a moment.

"Yeah," Sam smiled grimly. "Was kinda hoping you'd find me without, you know, getting caught." He chuckled and groaned. "They, uh…pretty sure they're not coming back."

"Good. Gives us plenty of time to get the hell out of this." Dean could see Sam was staked out in the sand just as he was.

"Not really." Sam looked over and met his eyes. "I figure we've got about a half hour. Look down."

"Huh?" Dean raised his head and looked down his legs…to the ocean surf lapping lazily just beyond his feet. He let his head thump back onto the sand. "The tide's coming in, isn't it?"

"This was a popular way to kill people back in the pirates' day," Sam commented and pulled on the ropes again, earning himself another stab of pain from his leg and his still sore ribs and back. His body did not like being unnaturally stretched as it was.

"You ok?" Dean asked, hearing the hiss of pain.

"Peachy." Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing through the pain. "Always wanted to check 'drowning' off the list."

"What list?" Dean pulled on his right arm as hard as he could and felt a slight give in the stake.

"The 'ways I've almost died' list." Sam chuckled and looked back over at his brother. "Cause I expect my self-proclaimed awesome big brother to get us out of this."

Dean laughed softly and shook his head. "Beats having our hearts crushed in our chests, I suppose." He fought to pull the stake out again and growled. "Friggin' ghosts can tie some damn knots."

Twenty minutes later, Dean had only worked the stake a couple inches out of the sand and was cursing, wondering just how long the things were. The tide was rolling in with purpose and made him pull with desperation, ignoring the pain from his now-abraded wrists and the warm stickiness of blood oozing from the torn skin.

The ghosts had staked him out slightly higher up the beach than Sam. While the water was only halfway up his own chest, Sam was already working to hold his chin out of it and sputtering water each time a wave rolled over his face.

"Dean?" Sam called with a hint of panic in his voice.

"Just keep breathin', Sammy." Dean didn't spare him a look. He didn't need to see how close he was to losing him. He renewed his efforts, tugging and pulling on the stake, determined to get it free in time.

"Dean," Sam choked as another wave washed over his face and coughed, spitting it out. "Dean, I'm sorry." He didn't think his big brother was going to pull off a miracle this time and the words of the shifter were echoing in his head. It may have been a monster but it had direct access to Dean's mind, and Sam knew the things it had told him had been the truth. He didn't want to die with the words left unsaid. "Sorry I left you with…" He had to hold his breath through another wave. "…stuck with Dad. Shouldn't have just…just left you."

"Dammit, Sammy! Shut up!" Dean shouted and finally glanced over. Sam had his head raised as far as he could, but the surf was lapping at his face, his nose barely above it. Dean took his first wave in the face and spat the salty water out fighting the panic threatening to overwhelm him as he realized that his brother was out of time. "Sam? You hang on, you hear me?"

Sam couldn't speak. He gasped in what he knew would be his last breath and held it as the water finally covered his head, trying desperately not to give in to the terror he felt knowing that, this time, there was not going to be a last minute reprieve. He could just see Dean beneath the water now, struggling still to free himself. The water buoyed Sam up and pulled painfully on his leg and chest. The pain made him want to suck in a breath and he fought the urge. The push and pull of the waves tugged him back and forth and black spots began to dance in his vision as the urge to breathe became overwhelming.

"Sam!" Dean shouted between waves. He let his head drop back into the water, trying not to give in to the terror he felt filling his entire being, knowing that his brother was breathing his last. Dean yelled out his frustration into the water as he pulled frantically on his right arm. It came free in a rush as the water washed into the space he'd created around the stake and set it free. He didn't bother catching his breath. Dean lurched over to his left and pulled his other arm free. He sucked in air as he sat up and panic drove him to dive beneath the water and free his legs; he couldn't see his brother anymore. His legs free, Dean splashed over to Sam and dropped to his knees, reaching beneath the water. He felt along his brother's arm until he found a stake and wrenched it free.

"Hang on, little brother," Dean gasped and tried to pull Sam's head up. With only one arm free, there wasn't enough slack, and he fell to the other arm in a panic. "Almost. Almost, dammit. Hang on." Sam's other arm came loose, and Dean wrapped his arms around his chest, pulling him above the water. "Sam!"

He expected a lifeless body, was steeling himself for the reality of a drowned brother, but instead pulled up a brother who spasmed wildly and heaved in desperate breaths between bouts of coughing. "Holy crap." Dean crushed him to his chest for a moment just feeling him breathe and struggle in his arms.

"Dean," Sam gasped finally into his neck. He had been a moment away from breathing water. He knew it. The pressure in his chest had become unbearable just as he'd felt Dean's hands on his arms.

"Hang on. Hang on, ok?" Dean pulled back and grasped his shoulders. "Lemme get your legs free." Sam gave him a nod, and Dean took a breath and ducked beneath the water to pull out the stakes still binding him to the sand. Sam came free in a rush with another wave, and Dean floundered back to the surface to grab hold of him again. "Ok, here we go. Come on." He pulled Sam up with him and staggered up out of the surf and sand into the trees.

Sam walked on rubbery legs, still heaving for much needed air, Dean's arms around his chest all that was keeping him standing as his abused leg protested walking. "Stop. Dean, please." He needed to sit. The movement was taking a toll on top of the residual panic still coursing through him, and he was perilously close to throwing up.

Dean nodded and eased Sam down to the ground with him, leaning him back against the bole of a tree. "Slow it down, Sam." He was close to hyperventilating. Dean put a hand on his neck and squeezed gently. "You're ok."

"I know." Sam forced himself to stop wheezing in air with the comforting weight of Dean's hand on his neck. He shifted his legs and slammed his eyes shut. "Shit."

"What?" Dean followed the hand Sam shot out to his leg and sighed. "Being staked out didn't do you any favors, huh?" He ran a hand down the sopping leg of his brother's jeans and brought it up. It glistened with water and spots of red in the moonlight. "And you're bleeding again. Alright. I officially hate pirates."

Sam couldn't help the chuckle and got his eyes open again. "Liar," Sam said and grinned weakly when Dean looked at him. "You know you love Jack Sparrow."

"That's Captain Jack to you, dude." Dean smirked and shook his head while Sam snorted softly. He looked around them and groaned. "Got to be somewhere we can hole up. Guns are gone and our packs." He stuck his hand into his water-logged pockets and came out with seven shotgun shells. "Not enough salt to do any good."

"We figure out which side of the island we're on, we'll know where we left our stuff." Sam raised an arm and clasped hands with Dean to pull himself shakily to his feet.

"Assuming they didn't do something with it," Dean said darkly. He pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulder and started them walking along the shore, just inside the tree line.

"And assuming they leave us alone long enough." Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing back the exhaustion. He patted the front of his shirt and sighed. "My charm's still there. Yours?"

Dean raised his hand up and showed the charm still wrapped around his wrist. "Maybe that's why the pirate death sentence instead of having our hearts crushed. The curse couldn't get to us?"

Sam winced in sympathy seeing the already-darkening bruises and the torn, raw skin circling Dean's wrist above the leather holding the charm. "Maybe. Hope so." It was taking every ounce of willpower Sam had not to beg to sit back down again. The wounds in his leg stabbed up into his head with every step. Dean seemed to know and took more of his weight onto his shoulders with a grunt. "Sorry."

"Next hunt…you get to carry me," Dean said with a chuckle. To himself, he'd admit that he didn't mind half-carrying Sam just then. He needed the physical reinforcement of his brother heavy on his shoulder that he was alive and well after coming so close to watching him drown. He remembered what Sam had said just before the water closed over him, his apology, and he decided they were damn sure going to have a talk about that load of crap later. "You see anything? Feel any ghostly hands copping a feel?"

Sam chuckled softly. "No. Nothing yet." He peered out into the darkened forest and saw nothing except a few remaining wisps of fog. "Probably haven't figured out we aren't sleeping with the fishes yet."

"Well good. Let's hope they don't." Dean hitched Sam higher on his shoulder as he felt him flagging, leaning heavily into him, and he could see the pinched look of pain on his face even in the dim moonlight. "At least it's not raining."

"Dean. What are we gonna do?" Sam asked quietly. "We're stuck here until morning."

"We'll be fine, Sammy," Dean said in as sure a voice as he could muster. "Ghosts already think we're toast, and Lonely Hearts can't get at us while we've got your stinky charms."

Sam nodded and tried to let the confidence in Dean's voice comfort his jangling nerves. At that moment, he couldn't see how they were going to avoid ghosts and find the source of a curse in their current state without ending up on the island's ever growing list of casualties.

"Keep walkin', dude," Dean said gently as Sam's head drooped and his pace slowed.

"Sorry." Sam picked himself back up and got his legs moving again. "We can…we can try the burial grounds. North side of the island."

"Soon as I know where north is," Dean said ruefully and wished he'd paid more attention to navigating by the stars as he looked up through the tree tops.

"We're on the…south side," Sam smiled and waved an arm out toward the ocean. "We'd see the shore from the north." He smirked when Dean rolled his eyes. "We shouldn't be too far from where they ambushed us. That way." He pointed in the direction they were going.

"You and that ridiculous geek brain of yours," Dean snorted.

The woods and the island remained silent. Dean kept his eyes on the fog, waiting for it to start forming ghosts again and grateful when it didn't. Sam was giving all his effort to walk on his own in spite of the exhaustion Dean could see clearly written all over him. Poor kid had been used for target practice and nearly drowned, not to mention running a fever from the infection. He looked ready to fall down at any time. He wished now he had convinced Sam to take a few days and heal up before they came back. The guilt was a lump in his throat that he knew wouldn't leave until he got Sam off the island again. Dean groaned inwardly imagining his father's reaction to his rather spectacular failure to watch out for Sam in the last couple days.

"Dean," Sam put a hand to his brother's chest and then pointed. "I think that's our stuff."

They shuffled forward through the trees to the dark shapes on the ground Sam had noticed, and Dean grinned as they reached them. "Finally, something goes our way." He let Sam stand on his own and bent, picking up their shotguns and passing one to him. "Here." He took his duffel and slung it over his shoulder, and then grabbed Sam's and did the same, knowing his brother didn't have the energy left to carry it and stay standing. "Ok. Burial grounds."

Sam turned and nodded. "That direction." He let Dean slide his arm over his shoulders again and felt safer with the gun in his hands even though it had proved no obstacle to the piratical spirits who had taken them earlier. This time however, they would be prepared. They knew how the ghosts worked and what to expect. They wouldn't be caught off-guard again.

Dean got them moving once more, this time angling away from the beach and into the center of the island. The sooner they found the source of the curse the better. If they were lucky, destroying it would settle the island's ghosts as well.

"I want a beer," Sam commented softly. "Get the taste of salt water out of my mouth. Yech."

Dean chuckled. "Don't blame ya." He had yet to shake the sight of Sam vanishing beneath the waves beside him and tightened his grip around his chest.

"Guh..dude. Ribs," Sam reminded him as Dean's arm tightened.

"Crap, sorry." Dean smirked and loosened his arm again.

"Girl," Sam tossed his brother's favorite insult back at him with a laugh even as the action had warmed him.

"Bite me." Dean refused to look over at him and see the ridiculous sappy look Sam no doubt had on his face.

Fifteen minutes later and nearly across the island, Dean's nerves were on edge. He couldn't believe they had crossed without a single ghostly attack or any sign of the curse. It made him nervous, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sam was walking on his own beside him after assuring Dean that the bleeding was minimal and he could handle it. He limped heavily but stubbornly kept pace with Dean's easier stride.

"I got a bad feeling about this," Sam said suddenly into the silence as they neared the burial grounds.

Dean snorted. "Ok, Han." He turned to look behind them and wished the EMF meter hadn't been in his pocket on the beach. It was water-logged and would take him hours to dry out and fix. He didn't like not having a warning system in place. "How much farther?"

"Just up ahead," Sam replied and nodded. "Through those trees."

"Sooner or later something's gonna figure out what we're doing," Dean said softly and hefted his shotgun.

"Maybe we'll get lu…" Sam's words were cut off as several vines dropped from the trees above them to loop around his chest, arms and legs. "Dean!"

"Shit!" Dean shouted as he was wrapped up and yanked suddenly from his feet. They were almost at the edge of the trees. He could see the open space of the burial grounds ahead of them as the vines roughly hoisted them both into the air.

Sam cried out as one vine wrapped tightly around his injured leg and more tightened across his abused chest, squeezing his ribs tightly. Spots exploded across his vision with the pain and he distantly felt another coil of vine wrap around his neck. He had only a moment to wonder; why always his throat?

"Sammy!" Dean struggled against the hold of the vines. He craned his head and watched as Sam suddenly went limp, his shotgun falling from nerveless fingers to thump into the ground below. It made him tighten his own grip as the vines squeezed him hard, lifting him higher. He growled out his frustration and glared down at the dark shadow that appeared below them; the curse personified, he knew now. "I am gonna…enjoy…ganking your ghostly ass, pal!" He shouted and then sucked in a breath as more of the vine closed around his neck.

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_To Be Continued… _


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Isle of Lost Souls

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** New coordinates from Dad and a simple ghost hunt that becomes anything but on a small island off the coast of Connecticut. Post 1x06 "Skin" hurt/comfort/awesome!sam/dean

**Author's note:** I apologize for the unusual long delays with these chapters. Real life has a way of interfering when you least want it too. On the upside, you all know I always finish what I start. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

"_Maybe we'll get lu…" Sam's words were cut off as vines dropped from the trees above them to look around his chest, arms and legs. "Dean!"_

"_Shit!" Dean shouted as he was wrapped up and yanked suddenly from his feet. They were almost at the edge of the trees. He could see the open space of the burial grounds ahead of them as the vines hoisted them both into the air._

_Sam cried out as one vine wrapped tightly around his injured leg and more tightened across his abused chest, squeezing his ribs tightly. Spots exploded across his vision with the pain and he distantly felt another coil of vine wrap around his neck._

"_Sammy!" Dean struggled against the hold of the vines. He craned his head and watched as Sam suddenly went limp; his shotgun falling from nerveless fingers to thump into the ground below. It made him tighten his own grip as the vines squeezed him hard, lifting him higher. He growled out his frustration and glared down at the dark shadow that appeared below them; the curse personified, he knew now. "I am gonna…enjoy…ganking your ghostly ass pal!" He shouted and then sucked in a breath as more of the vine closed around his neck._

_**CHAPTER 5**_

Dean sucked in a breath past the constriction at his neck. Sam dangled unconscious in the grip of the vines beside him. They were a good fifteen feet up in the air, and he stared down at the shadow shape below, watching. He forced down the panic that rose up as his lungs burned for air. Instead, he worked to point the muzzle of the shotgun down against the pull of the vines, aiming for the shadow. He couldn't see the gun and had to guess when he had it aimed properly. A lifetime of weapons drills guided his hand and he squeezed the trigger. The gun echoed into the night as rock salt rained down on the shadow below, and it wavered and vanished with an outraged cry. The vines shuddered and suddenly released.

He hit the ground hard, the landing knocking the air from his lungs. Dean gasped in a breath and rolled painfully to his side. "Sam?" He crawled over to his brother and rolled him from his stomach into his arms, trying to ignore the way his arms and legs flopped bonelessly. "Come on, kiddo. Be there." A fresh ring of bruising was already coming up around his neck as Dean placed shaking fingers there. He dropped his head with a relieved sigh as he felt the steady thump-thump of his heart. He brushed Sam's over-long hair off his forehead and curved a hand along his face. "Time to wake up, Sammy." He looked up around them, but for the moment, they were alone. "Sam!" Dean rested Sam against his knee, supporting his head in the curve of his elbow and rubbed the knuckles of his other hand firmly into his sternum to get his attention.

Sam stirred, eyes crinkling in irritation. He came awake on a gasp as his eyes flew open. "Dean!"

"Easy! Easy, Sammy." Dean held him in place as Sam dropped back against him and groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's gone for now, but we gotta move. Anything broken?"

Sam took a mental inventory, surprised to not be dead up a tree. His leg was a burning pain and he figured it must have hit the ground first, but it didn't feel broken. "Think I'm alright," he said in a wrecked voice barely above a whisper. The vine had done a number on his neck. He raised a shaking hand to rub over it and couldn't stop the cough that dragged its way up his throat, making his chest hurt more.

"Alright, my ass." Dean sighed and shifted, pulling his knee out from behind him. "Come on, Sasquatch. See if we can get you vertical."

Sam wrapped his hands around his brothers' arms and let him pull him up. The world tilted dangerously and he did his best to lock his knees and not fall. "Crap."

"You good?" Dean asked and got a short nod. He peeled Sam's hands from his arms and bent to retrieve their bags and guns. "Here." He pushed the shotgun back into his brother's hand and pulled him in against his side. "We're almost there. You can do this."

"Yeah." Sam forced himself to move, but his first step on his left leg ended with him staggering into Dean and holding on to stay off the ground.

"Whoa!" Dean caught him hard and pulled him back up. "Leg?"

Sam nodded wearily. "It's ok. I'm ok."

"Uh huh." Dean wanted to find someplace to leave him but knew there was no such place as long as the curse was free. Sam's head hung down, his eyes closed, and he looked as though he was moments away from falling asleep. "Come on, Tiger. Head up."

Sam jerked his head up and aimed a glare at him. "Dude, I'm not five."

Dean snorted. "You look five right now." He grunted with the effort of holding him. "Sure as hell don't feel it though. No more Wheaties for you. Damn."

Sam made a Herculean effort to get his legs back under him and take some of his weight. "We should move."

"Don't make me carry you," Dean smirked and started forward again. Each step had Sam leaning heavily into him to avoid using his left leg as much as possible. His brother's raspy voice was doing nothing to restore his calm. They set an unsteady course out of the trees into the clearing. The earth was uneven, humped here and there with what were no doubt Indian remains.

"When the…Indians were driven…from the island…" Sam stumbled, breathing hard. "…settlers buried…buried their dead. Pissed them off." He groaned as he set too much weight on his leg and breathed through it. "Hence the curse."

"Awesome," Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "So, geek boy, where do we start?"

Sam looked up and let his eyes roam across the open field. On the far side, the trees thinned and he could see the distant lights of Milford through the thin fog. He looked back to the field and followed the vague rows of burial sites. "There." Sam pointed with his shotgun. "That looks like an old foundation. Probably the…the church. If I were an Indian….Indian Shaman, that's what I'd have cursed."

"Let's hope so," Dean said softly and pulled Sam with him over the uneven ground. "Ok, down you go." He found a spot near the foundation and lowered his brother gently to the ground.

"Dean, no," Sam protested, trying to stay standing but unable to stop the slide to the damp earth. "I can help."

"And you're going to." Dean knelt beside him and clasped his shoulder. "You're not doin' any digging with that leg, Chief. You watch my back. Keep that thing off my ass until I find…whatever the hell it is we're looking for."

Sam groaned with frustration but stayed on the ground while Dean pulled the collapsible shovel out of his bag and walked the perimeter of the old foundation. He stretched his aching leg out in front of him with a soft moan. He'd be off his feet for days when they were done with this job; he knew it and tried to resign himself to the mother-henning he knew would also be coming. Sam smirked. Dean could be damn clingy in spite of his repeated rule about no chick flick moments when it came to his little brother being injured.

"Think I got something!" Dean yelled and crossed into the perimeter of the old church toward a mound smaller than the others. It didn't resemble the customary shape of a grave they were used to seeing, and it sat in nearly the center of the foundation. He stabbed the shovel into the long grass covering the mound and dug up a chunk, flipping it aside.

Sam wanted very much to give in to the urge to lie back and close his eyes. He gave himself a shake instead and sat up straighter, letting his eyes roam back and forth across the field. The smell from the charm around his neck made his nose itch. Its time in the salt water had made it more pungent, and he wished he'd tied it around his wrist like his brother had.

"Find anything?" Sam called as a brisk wind picked up, tossing his hair into his eyes.

"Maybe." Dean tossed another clod of dirt off to the side and grinned as the blade of the shovel cracked into something. "Yahtzee." He dropped to his knees and used his hands to clear more of the soil away.

Sam watched his brother and rubbed a hand over an odd oily feeling on his chest. "What the hell?" He pulled his shirt out and looked down. His eyes widened in shock and not a little fear. The charm around his neck was dissolving, its contents slowly seeping out of the little burlap sack to run down his skin. "Dean!"

"What?" Dean didn't look up, intent on his digging. "I've got something here."

"Check your charm!" Sam struggled to get his good leg under him, eyes whipping back and forth across the empty field. Without the charms they were sitting ducks for the curse.

"My what?" Dean looked up and saw Sam frantically trying to stand. He scowled and held his wrist up. Below the abraded skin hung the little charm bag and as he watched, dark liquid oozed from it to drip away. "Oh, crap. This mean what I think it means?"

"We're screwed!" Sam used the barrel of the shotgun to give himself a boost until he was standing balanced on his good leg. "Move your ass!"

Dean growled and bent to his task with renewed fervor. It was a box of some sort, covered in faded markings that he was sure Sam would tell him were Native American in origin. He felt along the edges as he moved the earth away and tried tugging it up from the ground but it held fast. "Dammit. Come on!"

Sam wavered on his feet and stumbled back a step as a phantom touch ghosted down his chest, freezing the skin under his wet shirt and stopping just above the waist of his jeans. "Hey!" He shuddered and kept the shotgun ready. "What is with the dirty pirates groping us?"

Dean chuckled and dug his fingers into the dirt along the box, trying to shift it. "I dunno man but - dammit you piece of crap - they're kinda disturbing!"

Sam growled as he felt invisible hands curving around his ribs. "Whoa!" he shouted, and staggered back a step, firing the shotgun out of reflex as the spirit of a long-haired woman became visible in front of him for just a moment. "Not pirates!" The rock salt banished the woman, but another foggy shape drifted in toward him. "They're women!"

"Ok. Now I feel less violated," Dean said with a smirk. The box came loose from the soil holding it and he rocked back onto knees. "Gotcha! I got it!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled and tried to run to him. Pain took his leg out from under him and sent him crashing to the ground. The dark shadow of the curse personified appeared behind his brother and reached down. "Dean, look out!"

Cold drove into Dean's back like a spear. He arched against the agony and dragged a breath into lungs that didn't want to cooperate and couldn't stop the strangled scream as he felt fingers flexing inside his chest. The box dropped from his hands. He heard Sam yelling for him and tried to fight the pain and pull away, but tumbled into darkness instead.

"Dean!" Sam raised the shotgun with shaking hands, ignoring the spots dancing in his vision, and fired into the shadow above his brother. It screamed and burst into shreds of dark fog. "Dean!" Sam crawled to him as he toppled, boneless, into the ground. Sam reached him and rolled him up into his arms.

"Come on, Dean. Please don't do this," he pleaded in a desperate whisper. He lowered his head to Dean's chest and listened above the pounding of his own heart while the coroner's reports played through his head - hearts crushed inside the victim's chests. He sobbed a breath in and out as he heard the stuttering sound of Dean's heart still beating and felt the gentle rise and fall beneath his cheek as he breathed.

"Ok." Sam raised his head and eased Dean gently to the ground. He patted him lightly on the chest. "I got this." He turned to the box Dean had dropped and gasped as his battered leg shifted wrong. It took his breath away and left him panting into the dirt, fighting the darkness tunneling into his vision. A feather-light touch running along his spine jerked Sam back into action and away from the brink of unconsciousness.

"Dammit." Sam crawled another foot and pulled the box closer. He took a moment to look at the symbols carved into the wooden surfaces. He recognized a few from his studies and they only had one use, to tie an angry spirit to a single place with a single purpose. The shadow's only driving force was to kill until they destroyed the box binding him to the island.

"Aw, man," Sam groaned when he saw Dean's bag several feet away. He tossed the box to land beside the bag and started crawling toward it. He had to go around his brother and briefly paused and laid his hand on his neck, making sure he was still breathing. Each foot he moved jarred new pain into his leg and up into his head. Sam was gasping by the time he reached the bag. He could feel the trickle of fresh blood on his thigh, telling him he'd pulled one too many stitches. He rifled through the duffel until he found the salt and lighter fluid, and set the box in a small depression in the dirt. A gust of cold air on his back gave him only a second's warning before something freezing reached in through his back.

Sam cried out and aimed the barrel of the shotgun over his shoulder, squeezing the trigger. It boomed in his ear, momentarily deafening him, but the sensation of the ghost's hand in his back vanished and he collapsed next to the box. "Crap," Sam pushed himself up and forced his steadily numbing hands to work. He poured salt over the box, dropped it, and took the lighter fluid, spraying it liberally over the top. His vision was fading in and out with the waves of pain from his leg and from his back where the cursed spirit had touched him.

Sam fumbled through his pockets for his lighter. He looked up and groaned. The pirate spirits had returned and were drawing close to the brothers as they drifted with purpose across the field. "No. No way." His fingers closed around the lighter. Sam pulled it out and spun the wheel. The flame burst to life and he dropped it onto the box. He threw himself backward as flames burst into the night air and roared up.

The shadow of the cursed spirit appeared above the box in the flames. Its arms reached out and down toward Sam; fingers grazing his head and a moment later it erupted in light and vanished with a screaming cry. The heat from the flames warmed Sam's chest and face uncomfortably as he watched the ghosts beyond, waiting. He managed to get hold of the shotgun again and raised it. The barrel shook his unsteady hands and he fought it. The pirates slowed their advance, each one staring at the flames.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded softly at his elbow, questioning. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Don't move," Sam told him softly. Relief at hearing Dean awake and speaking was almost enough to drop him. It weakened his arms. The spirits seemed to come to some unspoken decision finally, and Sam watched as one by one they faded out of sight. A last phantom hand drifted almost lazily down the side of his face and then that was gone as well.

Dean pushed up to his elbows with a groan. His chest felt like someone had kicked him or maybe hit him with a battering ram. He rubbed a hand over it and watched the ghosts vanish. "Nice one, Sammy." He said and coughed to try and clear his throat. Even for him, his voice was low and rough. As he watched, Sam gave a small nod and then slowly collapsed forward, face first into the ground beside the fire. "Shit. Sam?" He was far too close to the little bonfire for Dean's liking.

Getting to his feet was out of the question as Dean managed his knees and then doubled over himself. The pain seared into his chest and he decided he didn't want to know what kind of damage the curse had done to him. "Sam?" Dean called again and made his way over to him. He took the shotgun from Sam's hand and set it aside, rolling him over to his back. He was breathing, which was good, and his heart beat strongly beneath Dean's fingers. "Ok, kiddo. What the hell?" Dean ran his hands down Sam's chest and arms and found nothing wrong. He felt through the thick mop of unruly hair but found no evidence of him having hit his head. Dean frowned and ran a hand lightly over Sam's wounded leg and groaned. "Dammit." He could feel the blood and shook his head. Dean pulled Sam's head and shoulders up into his arms and moved him away from the flames. Sam's face was hot to the touch from being so close.

Dean sat back and panted for breath, holding a hand over his own chest and the ache there. He bent over Sam again and tapped his face lightly. "Sam. Wake up." The box crackled and fell in on itself in the fire and Dean grinned. He looked back down at Sam with pride in his eyes. "You did good, Sammy. Now, how about you wake up so I don't have to try and carry you outta here again?"

"Ahoy there!"

Dean jumped with the shout from back in the trees behind them. He scrambled to grab up the shotgun and spun, aiming it steadily as a dark figure emerged into the field. He tightened his finger on the trigger and then just as quickly eased off of it when he realized it was an actual person and nothing supernatural. "Uh…hello?"

"Hey!" A young man with a thatch of blonde hair broke into a jog and crossed the open expanse quickly. "Been looking for you!"

"Huh?" Dean lowered the shotgun and set it in the grass. "Who the hell are you?"

The man smiled and knelt beside the brothers. "Jeremy. My aunt called me a little while ago. Jan? You met her, I guess. She said she wanted me to come out here and find, and I quote, 'the two gorgeous idiots who didn't listen to me'." Jeremy chuckled. "She said she knew you were in trouble when she saw your car was still parked out there."

Dean snorted and then laughed softly. "I'll be damned." He sat back and rested a hand on his brother's chest. "How'd you get out here?"

"Coast Guard Reserve." Jeremy smiled proudly. "I sort of…borrowed the boat. He alright?"

"He's been better." Dean sighed and nodded.

"What are you two even doing out here?" Jeremy asked as he bent and expertly checked Sam's vitals, fingers circling his wrist and one practiced eye on the blood he could see even in the moonlight staining the young man's leg.

"Hunting," Dean said simply. "Little brother here's kind of an enthusiast." He smirked and brushed Sam's hair off his forehead gently. "Didn't exactly go as planned."

"You know, anyone in town could have told you there isn't much to hunt out here." Jeremy smirked and nodded to the shotgun.

"Right." Dean ran a hand through his hair and smiled. "Well, now we know."  
Jeremy glanced around. "I've never been out here at night. Kinda spooky. Ya know, lots of legends around the area saying this place is haunted. Pirate curse or something. I mean, if you actually believe in that sort of thing. Not that I do, " he added quickly, "but I gotta tell you, wandering around earlier looking for you guys, I can see how those sorts of legends get started. Could almost feel some weird vibe in the air for a minute there. Then it was gone. Kinda freaky."

Dean made the appropriate "if-you-believe-in-that-stuff" face. "Ghost stories….every town's got at least a couple. Go figure."

"Come on." Jeremy stood and went around the other side of Sam. He bent and took hold of one of his arms. "Let's get him up and out of here. Oof." Jeremy grunted as he pulled Sam up so he was sitting. "Weighs a ton, doesn't he?"

Dean laughed and got to his knees. "You have no idea." He took the shotgun and shoved it into his bag along with the salt and lighter fluid, grateful that Jeremy wasn't asking too many questions and then went over to slide under one of Sam's arms. "Watch his left leg. He uh…hurt it last night. Tripped and knocked it around again tonight." Dean smirked as they made slow progress away from the field and toward the other side of the island.

"I can take you to the hospital once I get you back on the mainland." Jeremy offered but Dean shook his head.

"No, he'll be fine. I can handle it." Dean smiled to take the sting out of the refusal.

"Well, at least let me have a look at it when we get back." Jeremy waited until he got a slow nod from Dean. "Aunt Jan would hurt me if I let you guys walk away without at least looking."

"Wouldn't wanna make Aunt Jan mad," Dean said with a soft chuckle and pulled Sam's arm more securely over his shoulders.

Jeremy nodded. "Man, trust me. You really don't." He laughed and was satisfied to have gotten his way. "She scares me."

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Sam woke and stared up in confusion at the ceiling above him. He'd been expecting a night sky or maybe trees; not the stained paint of the ceiling of the motel. "Dean?" He raised his head and found his brother beside him.

"Stay down, dude." Dean put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back onto the bed.

"How'd we get off the island?" Sam asked and scowled. "When did we get off the island? What happened?"

Dean laughed. "Take a breath, Sammy." He took a glass of water from the nightstand and handed it to him. "You remember Jan?"

"The sweet lady with the dog?" Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Apparently, she got worried about us and sent her Coast Guard nephew out after us." Dean chuckled at the look of surprise. "Guy was ok. He got us off the island on his boat, cleaned up your leg and helped me get your gigantor ass back in the car."

Sam handed the glass back and let his head thump back into the pillow. "Did it work?" He looked over at Dean and raised his brows. "Is the curse broken?"

"Looks like." Dean settled back into the chair he'd pulled next to the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. "All the ghosts just kinda went away after you burned that box." He rubbed a hand absently over his chest where the ache still dwelled. "I figure the curse was riling up the spirit activity and once you torched it, they all went back to whatever passes for normal for ghosts." Dean frowned down at Sam. "You don't remember that?"

Sam closed his eyes wearily. "Man, I can't really remember anything after lighting up the box. It's a little foggy."

Dean snorted. "Not surprised. You popped most of your stitches doing whatever after that damn ghost tried to pop my heart." He leaned forward again and clasped his brother's shoulder. "Thanks man."

Sam smiled but didn't open his eyes; they felt too heavy. "S'nothin'." He sighed. "We'll have to keep an eye on it, monitor the news until we're sure it really is over." His voice drifted off, exhausted, at the end.

"Go back to sleep." Dean ran his hand over Sam's forehead and smiled. His fever had finally broken an hour past. He didn't see the need in telling Sam it was the next day or that he'd spent the remainder of the night in fevered dreams alternately calling out for Jess and his brother. Dean was exhausted as well but had been unable to find sleep until he knew Sam was alright. He watched Sam's breathing even back out into sleep and smiled. "Night, Bitch."

Dean got quietly up from the chair and finally allowed himself to stretch out in his own bed with a muffled sigh of contentment, burying his face in the pillow. He snorted a laugh at the sleepily delivered 'Jerk.' from Sam's bed. "I said go to sleep."

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_The End. _


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